


And Your Light, Gave Me Second Life

by magichistorian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magichistorian/pseuds/magichistorian
Summary: Pietro doesn’t realize how grateful he is for Clint until he thinks about how diffrerent he is from it all in his old life.





	And Your Light, Gave Me Second Life

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mat Kearney's Won't Back Down

When Clint grips his hair, he feels grounded, his mind kept on the plane of existence.

When _they_ gripped his hair, he feels ashamed, that he is weak, that he couldn't stop them, that he isn't protecting Wanda.

When Clint whispers in his ear, sometimes English, sometimes Sokovan, occasionally Russian, it sends warmth through him. Some days it's a soft warmth like his beloved hand warmers. Some days it's hot and ferocious, roiling in his guts so tight it nearly hurts but not _quite_.

When _they_ whispered into his ear, his bones stiffen and his warmth betrays him for the floor, leaving him pale and scared.

When Clint asks him to slow down, he feels all that unrelenting, violent energy fade, seep out until he feels calm, more in control than he has felt in years. He feels that energy blend with Clint's tired energy when he touches him and they both feel great.

When _they_ order him to slow down, he freezes in place, the need to run rattling through every nerve in his flesh, but he's more scared of what they'd do if he _doesn't_ -(not to him, but to Wanda)- so he just stands there and he could swear he would vibrate, the edges around his form blurred, like a glitched out image on a screen.

When he screws up on a mission, he is guilty, disappointed, only at himself. They might remind him to be smarter about this, more effective about that, and he takes it to heart even when he doesn't hear half of it.

When he screwed up then, dread would fill him like Mercury, thick and toxic. If he had some he might've consider drinking it to see if it really would kill him. But he never does. (He can't, or else everything will go to Wanda and that is worse than anything they could do.)

With Clint, sex is hot. Every brush of skin on skin leaves pleasantly scorching sensations through his body, and he's even warmer because he is safe, and Clint taught him how it should be done and he is amazed at all the amazing things you can do he never knew existed. He would always fall asleep when they were done because the energy is _gone_ and a cozy buzzing is flooding his veins.

With _anyone_ in Sokovia (and there were plenty of those) it was cold. A concrete floor was common, a yellow mattress less so. It was fast and hard and _so cold_. From their icy indifference to their frosty lust, he never walked away with anything but stiffness and misery and the the cold of having frigid moisture run through him, around him and down his pale face.

When the experiments started turning his dark hair stark, anyone who saw would call it beautiful with the sincerity of a rat, yanking it around, leering at it, grim if at it with sick lusty delight.

One night after he admits how much he loves Clint's arrows, Clint smooths a hand atop his head and recounts just how many times he's been entranced by the lovely color, bot possessively but lovingly. He crosses brown hair dye of his list.

At first when Wanda claims her experience wasn't as terrible, Clint is only relieved. But the look of pride and sadness across Pietro's face when she says that leaves him broken-hearted the next time he hears that because he has been told first hand just what her bother did to keep it so.

How badly he wants to tell her, make her bless her brother, like he should be, like he is everyday. But Clint wouldn't believe just one person and he knows neither would Pietro.

Many nights they have -individually- both wondered about where they would be without the other and find themselves particularly grateful.


End file.
